


undertow

by bog gremlin (tomatocages)



Series: nonsexual intimacy prompts [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Episode Related, Exhaustion, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Episode s03e05: The Journey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatocages/pseuds/bog%20gremlin
Summary: After Keith has dragged him out of the dead-in-the-water Galra cruiser and shucked the spacesuit off him, it’s clear that Shiro has, once again, been through a momentous, life-changing event. Also, he could use a bath. Set post Season 3, episode 5: The Journey.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: nonsexual intimacy prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838314
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	undertow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnaofAza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/gifts).



> Nonsexual intimacy prompt: bathing ([originally posted on twitter 6/24/20](https://twitter.com/boggremlin/status/1275839130124136448))

Shiro — reeks, is probably the kindest way to put it. 

After Keith has dragged him out of the dead-in-the-water Galra cruiser and shucked the spacesuit off him, it’s clear that Shiro has, once again, been through a momentous, life-changing event. It’s probably an event that would get made into an award-winning biopic, if he were anyone else. That’s the dubious honor Shiro’s carrying: he has so many ridiculous traumas to choose from. 

It’s a little like liberating Shiro from that medical isolation tent back on Earth. Shiro is half-limp and worn down, and he leans so heavily against Keith that it must take incredible focus for Keith to stay upright, no matter how strong he actually is. 

“Shiro,” Keith keeps saying his name, a litany. “Shiro, I found you.”

Shiro would like to recognize that Keith has rescued him. But the effort is monumental; it’s all Shiro can do, in the moment, to remain alert. It’s a foggy alertness, so foggy it probably doesn’t deserve the name. Shiro is tired, and the sudden access to breathable air is making him feel a little giddy. That might be hunger, or thirst, too; hard to say. He stopped noticing a while ago.

Keith half-leads, half-drags Shiro to his old quarters and runs a bath. It’s an odd luxury, one Shiro was always shocked to see in space; but then again, it’s not really filled with water. It’s more of a water-like cleaning solution. Shiro manages to drag his prison clothes off while Keith collects little luxury items, like a comb and rinse-free soap; then, naked, Shiro steps into the tub.

He slips almost immediately. Keith makes a startled sound and drops whatever he’s holding — it clatters softly against the floor, soft enough that even Shiro can’t register the noise as a threat — and barely manages to get his hands on Shiro’s shoulders to steady him. 

Keith does not tell him to be careful. Shiro is relieved. 

After that, though, Shiro sits down in the hip-deep bath, his knees rising out of the milky cleaning solvent like Mount Fuji seen in double vision. Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro sees Keith slip off his own shoes and sit on the edge of the tub. Keith’s not a talker; if he’d been any of the other paladins, Shiro knows he would have been overwhelmed by their questions at this point. Keith’s actions, always loud, are practically effusive: he pours the cleaning solvent activator onto a cloth and settles behind Shiro, so Shiro can lean heavily into Keith’s skinny knees.

Keith washes him. Shiro’s so tired he just leans into the touch. Keith is clinical and devoted, raising Shiro’s arms to scrub at his pits and rub grime from the joints of his prosthetic, then leaning forward over Shiro’s shoulder to wash his neck and chest. Keith washes all of Shiro, his chest and belly and flaccid dick; and, harder still to bear, the new scar on his thigh, the disgusting muck stuck between his toes. 

Last of all — the filth coming off him has clouded the cleaning solution, and settled below the waterline of the tub. This new science is so strange, when it invades the mundane workings of basic hygiene — Keith washes Shiro’s hair. 

It takes a long time; rubbing the rinse-free shampoo in and scratching at Shiro’s skull, dislodging grit and probably space lice, for all he knows. It feels good. Shiro hasn’t felt this good in years, even though the whole bath is objectively uncomfortable. The cleaning solvent is too slick. It smells like cucumbers and petrichor. Keith’s not very good at washing Shiro’s body or hair; he’s a little too brisk with the movements, not quite gentle enough. Keith’s been biting at his hands again, probably, because Shiro’s long hair keeps gets tangled in Keith’s torn nails. 

After — it feels like a shame not to rinse, even if Shiro knows that he’s clean now. He still wants to drop under the surface and stay there until his lungs run out of air, if only so he can be reminded of the full-body relief he felt when Keith pulled him out of that ship — Keith helps Shiro struggle into the softest clothes he can find, and puts him to bed. 

Shiro doesn’t thank him. Keith isn’t taking care of him in order to be thanked. Shiro closes his eyes, leans hard enough into Keith’s hands that Keith gets the hint and sits on the bed next to him. He doesn’t lie down with Shiro. He’s keeping watch. 

Shiro is not confident that he’ll wake up and everything will be okay. But he’s been pulled from wreckage before, and Keith has watched over him before; right now, sleep is enough to hope for. 


End file.
